


Remember (How to Breathe)

by The_Last_Kenobi



Series: Whumptober 2020 [24]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alien Culture, Child Neglect, Confusion, Dark, Deception, Graphic Self-Harm, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Manipulation, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original Character(s), Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Read the tags please, Ritual Sacrifice, Sacrifice, Self-Harm, Sensory Deprivation, Suicidal Ideation, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Trauma, Unintentional but it happened, Whump, Whumptober 2020, dark themes, read the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Last_Kenobi/pseuds/The_Last_Kenobi
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi, a young Knight with a young Padawan, takes an unusual solo mission to the farthest edges of Republic territory.He's missing for a month - and then gone for another, in a private room in the Halls of Healing.Obi-Wan is never the same, and Anakin can't take it.Obi-Wan finds his own ways to survive.Written for Whumptober 2020Day 24 - Sensory Deprivation
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Series: Whumptober 2020 [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956463
Comments: 12
Kudos: 106





	Remember (How to Breathe)

**Author's Note:**

> Please, BE CAREFUL.  
> READ THE TAGS.  
> Only proceed if you feel safe reading about this.

Obi-Wan could feel Anakin’s roiling mixture of _anger-disappointment-hurt-worry-disgust_ no matter how little they spoke, or how far away they stayed from one another in their shared quarters. It was like a blistering heat from the other end of the bond, constant and painful.

Obi-Wan accepted the pain.

 _Welcomed_ it.

It was a focusing agent, something that gave him power and concentration to drag himself through every day.

It plagued his dreams, too.

And that was a relief, because just as the pain was a welcome underline to his long days, the pain was an excellent distraction from his nightmares.

Anakin had been angry at him for four days straight now – since Obi-Wan had been released from a month-long stint in a secure room in the Halls of Healing, barred from any and all unauthorized visitors – including his twelve-year-old Padawan.

Today, the young Master exited his bedroom and found his apprentice at the table, taking apart a droid, something he had been expressly forbidden from doing multiple times. And disciplined at least twice. Anakin didn’t even look up at him, just continued fiddling with a spring, testing a broken end.

“Padawan,” said Obi-Wan quietly. “What are you doing?”

Anakin’s thin imitation of self-control shattered instantly. He looked up with a scowl, his _anger-disappointment-hurt-worry-disgust_ reaching yet another crescendo, battering against his Master’s shielding.

“What do you care?” the boy snarled. “You don’t give a frip about me or what I’m doing unless you want to punish me!”

“That’s not true, Anakin.”

“Yes it is!” Anakin shouted, leaping to his feet. “You ditch me whenever you feel like it and you never say sorry!”

* * *

_Obi-Wan didn’t resist as he was manhandled and forced to his knees; his lightsaber was already taken from him and he knew only diplomacy, the Force, and time could save him now._

_The warrior-king smiled down at him, a hungry smile that seemed to drip blood while being perfectly clean and neat._

_“_ Mage _. Jedi,” he hissed. “You were a fool to come here.”_

_“I was summoned,” Obi-Wan said serenely. “Where the call comes, a Jedi always answers.”_

_He meant the Force, not just the pleas of Republic citizens, but it didn’t matter._

_It had become clear why the only recorded previous mission to this planet, over a century before, had failed. The warrior-king gripped Obi-Wan’s chin and jerked his head back, laughing at him._

_“Good,” he said. “It is good to know that we can count on a Mage sacrifice next century, too. And the next. And the next.”_

_Obi-Wan tried to pull his head away, but the man dug his fingers into his flesh, bruising him. The warrior-king smiled viciously, licking his lips in a way Obi-Wan did not like._

_“You are about to become part of a glorious history, little Mage,” he rumbled in his dark voice. “Be grateful.”_

_Obi-Wan_ was _grateful, at least, that he had insisted on taking this mission solo._

_Anakin was safe._

* * *

Anakin hurled the spring at Obi-Wan; it bounced off the older man’s cheek and the broken end caught on skin, making a small tear.

More pain.

Obi-Wan _leaned_ into it, but outwardly, remained placid.

“Anakin,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up!” Anakin yelled. “All you do is order me around and _float_ around the place like you’re trying to be some kind of angel, but you’re just weak! ‘Whisper this’ and ‘gentle voice that,’ and you never _say_ anything!”

The boy’s voice cracked; his eyes flooded with furious and wounded tears.

He stormed out of the common area and into his bedroom before Obi-Wan could gather the strength to stop him.

Obi-Wan touched his cheek where the scratch was beginning to bleed and stood there, rooted to the spot, staring vaguely at the window, not really seeing it.

* * *

_The people of the planet had no name – at least, not one they shared with outsiders and potential sacrifices. The planet itself was called K’aiche, a densely forested sphere of mountains, valleys, deep rivers, and a thriving isolationist culture._

_It was not technically part of the Republic, but thanks to a very old treaty, K’aiche and its people received Republic aid when called for in exchange for being left well enough alone._

_Obi-Wan could see why._

_Their culture was intricate, powerful. It was more tightly woven than any other he had ever seen._

_The people were strong, creative, and deeply talented in arts, sciences, and hunting – although they were aware of modern developments, their religion and tradition demanded the old ways, using tools Obi-Wan had rarely seen before such as spears, bows, and the like. They had honed all these to perfection. A stylus or a bow in the hands of a K’aiche native was an extension of their own selves._

_Another thing their traditions demanded was the centennial sacrifice of a mage._

_Instead of slaying one of their own Force-sensitives, they decided to summon one from the Republic, and Obi-Wan was the lucky selection – unbeknownst to the Temple, who was awaiting word of his supposed mission to deal with persuading a village to move away from an unstable volcano._

_He had four weeks to live, he was told, quite cheerfully._

_Four weeks of “preparation.”_

_The first week had been simple – he had been drugged to prevent him using the Force, and then he was much coddled and petted and fattened on rich foods which he was not allowed to refuse. They bathed him in oils, and taught him select songs and stories of their people, all of them about the laws of sacrifice and bloodshed. They rubbed a powder into his ruddy-gold hair that made it stand, made it glitter as if it really were of gold. They admired his physical strength, and asked him the stories behind his scars._

_On the last night of that week, the warrior-king and his wife gave him wine._

_He tried to turn it down, tried to resist, but the warrior-king held his jaw open while his queen poured the drink between his lips. As soon as his mouth was full, the wife closed his mouth and pressed her hand over his lips, and the warrior-king pinched shut his nose, and Obi-Wan thrashed as a toxin he couldn’t filter fast enough flooded his body. He bucked under their admiring, pinning hands; he twisted himself, trying desperately to escape, but they crooned and petted and held him fast._

_They gave him the wine that dulled his mind and muffled his tongue, and took him to bed._

_He could not protest, could barely move._

_He could only_ feel _, and retreat into his mind, desperately seeking peace while they plundered his body against his will, every touch burned into his mind._

_It was overwhelming._

_Inside, he was screaming._

_Outwardly, he could do little more than whimper._

* * *

Obi-Wan dug his finger deeply into the cut across his cheek, widening it. There was a brief delay, and then hot blood gushed out over his finger and down his face.

That was good.

Obi-Wan leaned hard into the sensation, letting it consume all his attention.

Just before the blood began to drip onto his robes, he clapped his hand over the wound and healed it.

Obi-Wan wiped the blood away, and went to knock on his Padawan’s door.

“Anakin?” he called.

“Go away!” he yelled back, voice muffled. “I closed the door for a _reason!_ ”

“I understand, but I still think we should talk.”

“You wanna talk _now?_ ” Anakin screamed. “You leave me behind, then you shut me out from visiting you, and now you wanna talk?! About what, more ways _I’ve_ screwed up?” He was crying, or almost crying.

“No, not about that.” Obi-Wan paused, trying to orient himself. “I just…I’d like to talk to you, Padawan. I know it’s been… awhile.”

The door was flung open violently, unexpectedly.

Obi-Wan flinched.

The _anger-disappointment-hurt-worry-disgust_ boiled over again, and this time the _disappointment-disgust_ were overwhelming.

“What do you want?” the boy said shortly.

“I… I would like to be your Master, again, properly,” Obi-Wan explained. “I know I haven’t been, and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” Anakin repeated. “Why didn’t you start with that when you got out of the Halls? Or when you refused to talk to me when you commed the Temple during your mission? Or when you abandoned me to go on a solo?”

Something in the teary eyes _snapped_.

Black anger battered against Obi-Wan’s shields as his sweet, insecure twelve-year-old said softly, “Or how about when you let Master Qui-Gon die?”

Obi-Wan didn’t know what happened next. There was a blur of Anakin’s eyes—hateful, or crying?—and a door slammed, and a tumble to the floor.

The next moment of awareness came to him when he was sitting alone in the common area, in pitch black darkness, his head in his hands, wishing for more pain.

* * *

_What came after the full night of... unwilling exploration was worse._

_At least, he thought so after._

_The last three weeks of preparation were meant to be spent entirely alone, which at first, emerging from a drug-induced haze and sick to his stomach, skin itching and burning…alone had sounded good._

_Until they stripped him down to his trunks, dragged him into a pitch black room, and wrangled him into a pool of liquid, blindfolded._

_And left him there._

_At first he tried to swim, tried to move around, tried to escape. But the edges of the pool went all the way to the sides of the room, and no matter how carefully he searched, he couldn’t find a seam in the blackness where the door would be._

_He couldn’t get the blindfold off._

_He swam around, and around, and around._

_The water, if it was indeed water, felt strange. The temperature was all wrong – as if it weren’t really there, difficult to feel._

_Around, around, around, around._

_Eventually, he gave in, and slipped onto his back._

_He was sure he was floating. Mostly. But the liquid was strange, and sometimes he forgot it was even there._

_It scared him._

_Jedi didn't feel fear._

There is no emotion, there is peace.

_Peace._

_He just needed to embrace this, that was all. Accept, endure, survive._

_So he did._

_And at some point in the infinite span of time that he was left alone in the dark and unreality, Obi-Wan Kenobi faded from existence._

* * *

Anakin found him in the morning.

The boy walked hesitantly to where his Master was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, still holding his head in his hands.

“…Master?”

Obi-Wan didn’t move.

“ _Master_.” Anakin’s voice wavered between concern and rebuke.

The ginger-blonde head lifted slowly, and Anakin was startled to see the blankness in the blue-green eyes that normally looked at him with such serenity.

“Master Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan blinked. “Padawan. Is something wrong?”

“You’re sitting on the floor,” Anakin said dubiously. “Why.”

“I was centering myself, young one, I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

Anakin looked disgusted again. _Anger-disappointment-hurt-worry-disgust_ scratched like a wild animal at Obi-Wan’s shields, and he opened them just the slightest bit. Letting it all slide inside. His mind lit up in a hundred little fires as Anakin’s justified emotions, his pain and his grudge, sliced holes into his Master’s psyche.

Obi-Wan jolted slightly, and some clarity returned to his eyes.

“Ah,” he said, rising smoothly to his feet, giving no sign that he had been sitting on the hard floor all night, and tucked his hands into his sleeves. “Well. Anakin. It’s midweek, so I know you have classes to get to. I won’t keep you; you won’t want to be late. However, afterwards—”

Anakin cut him off. “What, you want to _talk?_ Meditate on my feelings, ‘cause I’m the only one who has any?” His young face screwed up. “I just tried to _help_ you, and you’re up again like nothing’s wrong! I don’t understand you _at all_.”

The blonde exited the room in a hurry, his Force presence bristling with barely-restrained _anger-disappointment-hurt-worry-disgust._

Obi-Wan Kenobi waited until that signature had faded into the distance of the Temple corridors before he walked, unsteadily now, into his bedroom, feeling lost and disoriented.

“Not good,” he said, talking to himself, trying to keep himself grounded and aware – “Not good, not good—”

He swayed and his knees hit the floor.

Dull pain – and sharp, piercing pain.

His brain sparked to life.

Obi-Wan looked down, and found that same broken spring beneath his right knee, stabbing clean through into his flesh.

Obi-Wan plucked it out; he rolled the small, innocent, bloody instrument between his fingers, and then very deliberately scraped it across his palm, harder and harder until he drew blood.

* * *

_He floated._

_He lay._

_He drowned._

_Obi-Wan couldn’t tell what was happening anymore._

_How long it had been._

_A day? A week?_

_Was he three hours into his three weeks of isolation? Or three days?_

_Perhaps three eternities._

_Obi-Wan couldn’t feel his body most of the time. He tried, once more, to find the door, but couldn’t even find the edge of the pool._

_So he returned to listlessness._

_For all he knew, he could have been floating face-down, inhaling the liquid he wasn’t even sure existed, had ever existed._

_He didn’t hear anything when he moved – no splashing, no rippling._

_Then again, he couldn’t be sure he actually had moved. Or if he was actually capable of hearing._

There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no…

_After the first – or two hundredth – or tenth –_

_After a while, the Code faded from his mind just like everything else had._

There is no…

Anything.

* * *

Obi-Wan retreated into his bedroom and shut the door. He sat down on his bed and began tracing the creases in his palm with the spring.

At first softly, then harder, and harder, and each stroke carved a deeper groove until he had intertwining rivers of red running across his hand where his palm lines had been.

He healed it softly, almost lovingly, and then raised his sleeve and set to work on his wrist.

Every touch was like fire, like a brand, electric and overwhelming just like the wine and the skilled and clever hands of a warrior-king and his queen, and it was better. Better violation, better this – whatever it was he was doing – better. Better than the dark and the empty.

Better than confusion and loss.

He needed to be awake to be a good Jedi.

To be a good Master to Anakin.

* * *

_What saved him was pain._

_When he was finally lifted from the pool – and he had no way of knowing if he had been fed or cared for at all during those endless, eternal, infinite three weeks – one of the guard’s hands had slipped. Obi-Wan, unable to stand or move or think, head lolling, was half-dropped – and someone’s metal gauntlet sliced a shallow groove on his bare shoulder._

Pain _._

_Pain meant alive, alive meant purpose, purpose needed clarity._

_K’aiche. Warrior-king. A trap. Ritual sacrifice._

_Obi-Wan didn’t care about living, not after living an immortal dread in a pool in the dark – but the Temple needed to be warned, they needed to never send a Jedi here again, especially not alone –_

_Alone._

_Obi-Wan had come alone. He had had a bad feeling, and chosen to leave Anakin behind._

_Anakin._

_He needed to live, after all._

_Obi-Wan waited until the perfect moment. When everyone was sure he was defeated, and he was certain his system was clear of drugs._

_And then he fought like he had never fought before, pulling all his training, experience, cunning, fortitude, determination, hope, and skill into four hours – and when the four hours were up, he stood beside a hostage warrior-king and sent out a long-range distress call to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant._

_He asked for two things._

_A Jedi entourage of at least four to ensure that K’aiche did not obtain a sacrifice from any Jedi._

_And for Anakin Skywalker to be kept safely out of the loop._

* * *

Obi-Wan scored his wrist, carving perfect, tidy lines up his arm.

Each cut was agony, and it was vitality.

He could feel the blood leaving him, the strength returning to him.

This might be his answer.

Pain shattered darkness.

* * *

_Obi-Wan was sequestered in a room in the Halls of Healing._

_They were unbearably gentle with him._

_They increased the luminosity of the lights gradually, day by day. Increased his food and water intake gradually, day by day. Allowed him more visitors, Healers and Councilors, gradually, day by day. They spoke to him at first, and then, over time, began pushing him for responses._

_Obi-Wan was barely there._

_But he recognized, at some point, that if he didn’t do something they would keep him here._

_And the soft, cleanly whiteness was just another version of the dark, untouchable liquids and unreachable walls._

_The other side of the coin._

_So Obi-Wan began to talk, began to reason, asked to walk, to eat, to go outside._

_Eventually, they let him._

* * *

Obi-Wan was waiting when Anakin returned from his classes. The Jedi Knight seemed taller, bright-eyed and smiling softly. He knelt before his Padawan, took the boy’s hands, and spoke. “I truly am sorry, Anakin. I know things have been confusing. I promise you, I will do better. We will be a team – always a team, for as long as you need me.”

He ruffled Anakin’s hair fondly, and Anakin tried not to cry as glittering eyes smiled at him and a brotherly hand rubbed his hair. “You are strong, Padawan. You will go far. It’s my duty to help you get there, to guide you, and I will. I won’t leave you again, and if I do, I swear to leave advance warning.”

Obi-Wan winked, and Anakin giggled.

* * *

Obi-Wan didn’t heal his arm. Not right away.

He covered it in tidy lines of red, and waited for Anakin to come back.

He could do this, he assured himself. This was what _Qui-Gon_ would have _wanted_ , what _Anakin needed_. When Anakin wasn’t there to blister Obi-Wan with his hurt and his rage, Obi-Wan could line himself in neat little rows.

There would always be something keeping him awake.

Reminding him he was alive.

He could be perfect, if he just remembered how to breathe on his own.

And pain reminded him how.

He’d already lived an eternity in the dark. Now it was time to do so in the real world.

And in the real world, people bled.

Inside, Obi-Wan was screaming.

Outwardly, he kept his long Jedi sleeves over his arms and kept his perfect Jedi smile in place for anyone to see.


End file.
